Mother's Day - a tribute RSS

A tribute to mothers everywhere and great gifts to give them.

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Apr
5th
Sat
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M-O-T-H-E-R

“M” is for the million things she gave me,
“O” means only that she’s growing old,
“T” is for the tears she shed to save me,
“H” is for her heart of purest gold;
“E” is for her eyes, with love-light shining,
“R” means right, and right she’ll always be,
Put them all together, they spell “MOTHER,”
A word that means the world to me.


—Howard Johnson (c. 1915)

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TO MY MOTHER

Because I feel that in the heavens above
The angels, whispering one to another,
Can find among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “Mother,”
Therefore by that dear name I have long called you,
You who are more than mother unto me,
And filled my heart of hearts, where death installed you,
In setting my Virginia’s spirit free.
My mother — my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are the mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
But that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul that its soul-life.


—Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Apr
3rd
Thu
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A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.
— Washington Irving
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Happiness is Like a Sunny Day

Happiness is like a sunny day:
All one’s bitterness is drowned in light.
Praise be the light, though it must pass away,
Perhaps because compassion needs the night.
Yet when one feels like swallowing barbed wire,
More or less does nothing for the pain.
Old memories return as if on fire,
Tormenting one with unforgiving shame.
How can I, who love you, come inside,
Each wound to bind up with an ointment rare,
Restoring the once effervescent bride
‘Neath misery no happiness can spare?
So shall I sing to you of all life’s beauty,
Doing through the night my daytime duty.
A song of love may not bring back your noon,
Yet in your darkness, let me be your moon.